


Red, White and the Stupid Shite Blues

by plumeria47



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Community: intoabar, Crossover, Gen, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, commiserating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumeria47/pseuds/plumeria47
Summary: After a minor spat with Steve, Bucky decides to cool off at his favorite bar.  Who knew the President of the United States would be drowning her sorrows at the very same place?
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry MountChristen-Windsor (implied), James "Bucky" Barnes & Ellen Claremont, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97
Collections: A Ficathon Goes Into A Bar





	Red, White and the Stupid Shite Blues

**Author's Note:**

> We're just going to pretend that Infinity War and Endgame never happened, and that after a cooling-off period post-Civil War, Bucky became a regular member of the Avengers.
> 
> Set during the _Red, White and Royal Blue_ period where Henry has run away from Alex's declaration of love, and Alex has flown off to England to confront him.
> 
> I know nothing of the ways the U.S. Secret Service actually screen individuals. I just went with what seemed reasonable. Please don't skewer me.

Bucky stripped off his tac vest and threw it into the corner next to the sofa. The _thunk_ he heard told him he’d probably dented the wall. Again. _Fuck._

Steve came in placidly behind him, setting his shield in its customary place by the front door. He sighed. “Buck–“

Bucky held up a hand without even turning around. “Just don’t.”

“You know I’m not going to get really hurt,” Steve persisted. “I’ve done it dozens of times and I–“

“I’m just as unbreakable as you are, pal,” Bucky said, finally whirling around to face Steve. “And you don’t see me running into trouble without a backup.”

“Moments are critical, Buck, you know that. It’s my job to do what needs doing.”

“And it is _my_ job to watch your six while you’re doing it.” Bucky gripped his hair in frustration. It was no longer long – that belonged to an identity he wanted no part of anymore – but that was probably just as well. Any longer and it would have been too easy to literally rip out his own hair in moments like these. “Dammit, Steve, we’ve been over this. I love you, you punk. Now, I’ve been through a lot of shit, and I’m still here today because I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, but If you die because I’m not there, I _won’t_ be able to recover from that.”

“And if people die because _I’m_ not there, how’s that gonna make me feel?” Steve countered.

Bucky resisted the urge to scream, but only because he’d retained an absolutely iron self-discipline after his years as _soldat_. “You know what?” he said instead. “I’m suddenly not tired at all anymore. I’m going out.”

Steve frowned as Bucky stomped by him. “At this hour?” 

Bucky wrenched open the door – with his right hand, or else he might have inadvertently ripped the door off its hinges. Again. “Damn right,” he growled, and then he was banging the door behind him and he was off down the street.

It was a warm muggy night in Brooklyn, no surprise there given it was August. Bucky had only been wearing an undershirt beneath his tac vest, and he was still old-fashioned enough to feel weird heading out so underdressed, but he also knew nobody else in 21st-century New York would blink twice. 

His little corner of the city wasn’t as busy at 1:30am as Manhattan might have been, but there were still some people walking around. Bucky ignored them, heading straight for his favorite bar off of Park Place. If it was the weekend he might not have bothered, but at this hour on a Monday, it would likely be pretty quiet. 

The sight of a man in a suit with an earpiece at the entrance to Washington Commons – and Bucky’s trained eye spotted another halfway down the block – almost made him turn around and find another place, but he was too tired and grumpy to bother. Whoever thought they were important enough to warrant a bodyguard was just going to have to put up with him. He let the guy give him a quick pat-down – although Bodyguard Dude clearly knew who Bucky was and seemed almost apologetic about it – and then Bucky was ducking into the familiar dim lighting and breathing a sigh of relief as entered his haven. He never came here with Steve – they had other places for that. This was where he came when he needed some head space.

He slid onto an empty stool and ordered his favorite bourbon. 

The bartender, a tousled, tattooed young man named Adam, slid the drink in front of Bucky. “Another tough night?” he asked.

“Yep,” was all Bucky said. Like most bartenders, Adam had the valuable skill of knowing when a patron wanted to chat, and when they just wanted to be left the hell alone. Which was definitely what Bucky wanted right now.

But after he’d had a chance to sip his drink and take a few deep breaths, he sat back and looked around the familiar space, to see who else had needed a drink in the middle of the night on a Monday. Tuesday. Whatever. He spotted a guy he’d seen once or twice before, a middle-aged woman hunched over her drink and in the corner ... another bodyguard. Hold up – make that a Secret Service agent, given that the person she was standing over appeared to be none other than Ellen Claremont, President of the United States. Like the other two patrons, she looked like she was in desperate need of forgetting whatever had driven her here in the first place.

Bucky hesitated. Here he’d just been, thinking about how glad he was to be left alone so he could work through his frustrations on his own, and now he was considering interrupting someone else’s reverie. Because President Claremont had her head in her hands and looked like she might actually be in need of a friend. 

After another moment’s indecision, Bucky got up, and walked slowly over toward the president’s corner. Slowly, because he wanted the Secret Service agent to have plenty of time to see him, recognize him – one advantage of being an Avenger, he supposed – and hopefully not threaten to shoot him. Bucky could survive a lot, but why press the issue?

Thankfully, the agent just held out a hand. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stay where you are.”

Bucky paused, his hands open at his sides in the near-universal sign for _I mean no harm_. “No hidden agenda, honest,” he said. “I just thought President Claremont might need an ear to vent at.” He gestured with his head in her direction, as if the agent had somehow failed to notice her charge’s emotional state.

“It’s all right, Tracy,” the lady in question said, heaving a sigh. “Just frisk him or whatever you need to do and let him pass. I’m pretty sure if he was going to assassinate me, he could have done it with his Dick Tracy arm from his barstool.”

Tracy gestured for Bucky to approach closer, murmuring into her earpiece as she did so. After a quick and somewhat apologetic patdown – “I’m sorry, Sergeant; I know who you are, but you understand the protocol” she let him by. 

Bucky sat in the armchair adjacent Ellen Claremont’s. “It’s all right, Ma’am, he said. “And anyway,” he added, lifting his left arm and wiggling his fingers in her direction, “my arm’s just an arm. Strong, but no Dick Tracy gadgets. It’s Tony Stark’s suit that has more weaponry than a Swiss army knife. Not that he’d hurt you with it,” he finished hastily. He cleared his throat. “So, Madam President,” he began. what brings you to our charming corner of Brooklyn at this time of night?”

The president heaved another sigh. “Campaign rally,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I understand re-election campaigns – well, any campaigns – can be exhausting, but I get the feeling that’s not why you’re here at nearly 2am.”

She turned her head a little to look at him. “Got it in one,” she admitted. She sat back – collapsed against the chair, more like – and added, “Family chaos.”

“Everything all right?”

The president took a sip of her drink before responding. “I’m pretty sure you’ll understand when I say I value my family’s privacy. It’s not something we get much of.”

Bucky nodded, thinking of how many privacy-invading questions the Avengers had endured over the years, and how much he and Steve had guarded their relationship, even now, in this vastly more accepting era. It really was nobody’s business.

“Let’s just say,” President Claremont continued, “that my son has done something really rash in pursuit of someone he loves and while I love the dumb shit to the end of time, it doesn’t mean I’m not tearing my fucking hair out over the possible consequences.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “And if I see even a _hint_ of that in the media, Sergeant, I will personally have your ‘just an arm’ metal limb removed and thrown in the fucking ocean. Possibly your other arm as well.”

Bucky bit his lip to keep from smiling at her words. Who knew the president had such a mouth on her? 

“Laugh it up,” she grumbled, noticing his expression. “You’re not the one trying to decide whether it’s better to hug someone or throttle them for potentially causing immeasurable pain and suffering.”

At that, Bucky couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Madam President, I’m here in this bar at this hour for precisely that reason.”

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Bucky paused for a moment, then decided if she could trust him with tidbits of personal information, he could do the same. “It’s ... my boyfriend,” he hedged. “He’s constantly sprinting straight into grave danger before I can watch his back. This last mission was ... well, it was one time too many.”

“Your....” He could see the president’s gears churning. “Never mind, it’s none of my business,” she concluded. Instead, she raised her glass in a little salute. “But you have my sympathies.”

“Thanks.” He raised his glass of bourbon in return, before knocking back the last of his drink.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, and then: “Sergeant Barnes, may I ask you a personal question?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” 

“Have you ever done something colossally stupid in the name of love?”

Bucky, who had been expecting her to ask who his boyfriend was, just stared at her a moment. Then he started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Oh, God, just how many idiotic things had he done for Steve over the years, from wading into his teenage fistfights to joining the Howlies in the first place? “Madam President, you have NO idea,” he choked out between chuckles. 

Once he was finally in control of himself again, he took a deep breath and decided to come clean. “I trust you not to spread this around,” he said. “It’s Steve. Rogers,” he added, just in case there was any doubt.

Ellen Claremont nodded. “I did wonder, once you’d admitted you were gay. You and the Captain have always seemed ... close.”

“Bisexual,” he clarified, which made the president hum in acknowledgement. “But might as well be gay at this point. We’ve been together – I mean, _together_ together – more or less since 1938. So, yes, there has been ample time for me to do stupid shit for him.” He decided if she could throw in swear words, so could he.

“Well, I still can’t divulge whom Alex is with,” she replied, “but it’s good to know he’s in good company.” She tossed back the rest of her own drink, then considered her empty glass. “May I buy you another round, Sergeant?”

“Only if you call me Bucky,” he said. “If I’m talkin’ about my love life, then we’ve gone way past the point of formal titles.”

She smiled – a bit tiredly, but it was a genuine smile. “Then call me Ellen.”

Bucky knew the magnitude of what he was being offered. Even if it only extended to the time spent in this bar, he was honored. 

The president – _Ellen_ – took his drink order, and they continued to commiserate over the stupid things they and their loved ones had done. It was refreshing to have someone who _wasn’t_ an Avenger to talk to, and apparently Ellen was likewise appreciating having an uninvolved, outside ear.

Eventually Bucky noticed it was getting on 3am. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but my day’s going to come too damn early tomorrow. Today. Whatever.”

Ellen sighed regretfully. “Yeah, I’ve got my first speech at 8am and then it’s off to Pennsylvania and Ohio for two or ten more events.”

The two of them got to their feet. The president offered her hand. “Well, I’m sorry we both had sorrows to drown tonight, but I’m glad to have done so with you.”

He returned the handshake gladly. “Good luck on the campaign trail,” he said. “Oh, and I recommend Café Eloise for your caffeine needs. I’m sure your hotel is nice and all,” he added, “but hotel coffee is always shit.”

She nodded. “I hate to inconvenience the locals,” she said, nodding at the ever-watchful Secret Service agent, “but maybe I can send one of my aides down for me. Recommend anything in particular?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve never had anything bad there,” he said, “although if you want extra juice, get their Kona coffee. Biggest jolt I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, yeah. Kona’s the best for that,” Ellen agreed. She picked up her discarded blazer and shrugged it on while Bucky checked his pockets for his phone and wallet. 

“Good luck to you and the Captain,” she said, as they headed for the door. Bucky could see the other Secret Service agent still standing, ever-vigilant, just outside the entrance. 

“Good luck to your son,” he replied, adding, “and to your sanity on his behalf.” 

She gave an unladylike snort. “Thanks. I’m gonna need it.”

And together they walked out the door and into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing from my readers, so pull up a chair, enjoy your bourbon (or your Kona coffee) and please leave a comment! Concrit is fine, too - just be polite. :-)


End file.
